


A Lost Letter

by Pandamilo



Series: Original Writing [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Implied Death, Inner Dialogue, Letters, War, addressed to the reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 02:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15963254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandamilo/pseuds/Pandamilo
Summary: I write to you...I am not sure who you are or how long it will be before this letter is discovered, but I promised myself I wouldn’t let my story go unheard.





	A Lost Letter

Hello,

I write to you...

I am not sure who you are or how long it will be before this letter is discovered, but I promised myself I wouldn’t let my story go unheard. I need you to understand this story will not be like the fairytales you’re told as a child, for that is not truthful when applied to life. It is a story of a journey and running, always running from the shadows that have begun to close in on me. From this, I know my story is nearing its end.

From the beginning of the horror, I was separated from my family, I tried to find my way back to my mother and father, but it was no use. I couldn’t get to them without boarding a train that would whisk me away, with the hundreds of other innocent people, to the camp to end all camps.  I refused to go there because, as a child, I was always taught to fight for my own freedom, believe in my faith and stay true to myself. There was no way I was going to let those shadows take my life from me like cattle to the slaughterhouse. So, inevitably, I ran. I ran for so long I lost track of where I was even running to but why did it matter?

Where could I go?

Anywhere, nowhere, somewhere better than here.

It has been a time that seems to be only a void of loneliness and hunger. At stages I will go days, maybe even weeks without eating but I refuse to let that drag me down, if I keep myself moving, then the shadows of those who chase me, through the worn down, deserted houses, may never catch me. The fear of death itself is like the passing night sky, it is as unavoidable that it will grow dark at the end of the day, as it is as unavoidable that we will die. The question is; but when? If it was up to me, it would be after this horror has past and people have started to rebuild, I would find the wife I was meant to marry in a few years time, we would have children and everything would be impossibly right. Those things have long since left my mind and the main thoughts that pass through are when will I be able to get a deep sleep or a proper meal?

There have been but a few times in these past months where I have felt a stirring of hope. Those times were because of the compassion a few people have shown. The first was a couple that accepted me into their family; they were young, just married and wishing for children. As it were, I knew I would not stay long with them; they were a flighty two that ambitioned to travel the world and soak up every aspect of life. I believe this is why they took me in. I am thankful to them, from the bottom of my heart, they got me through the first week of the shadows. The second family I stayed with had no knowledge of my presence; the youngest daughter had been wandering outside, a risky business in these desperate times, she found me hidden away in a dusty alley cupboard, frozen, hungry and extremely depleted. Whatever it was that the young girl saw in me caused her to risk everything to feed me and nurse me back to health. After a few weeks, she took me to a place she knew was safe and I never saw her again. Sadly, I never thought to thank her for her kindness, it didn’t even cross my mind to ask her name, and that is one of my biggest regrets.

I often think of her, and maybe this letter is addressed to her. I went back to that house once, not too long before the shadows crowded those streets, but she and her family were nowhere to be found.

Food is scarce, but I found a small jar of pickles, perhaps this jar will keep me going for a few days. I believe this is the place I will hide away your letter, dear one, for I believe this jar is my savior for now. The other item I will place in this jar is something I found on my journey, a small child’s shoe. It brought about, in me, a fatherly feeling. Looking down at it now and turning it over slowly again and again between my thin, almost skeletal fingers I can’t help but weep. I wish to be able to protect the owner of this once loved shoe, to hold them and promise that I will never let the shadows get to them because the sun will always come back and the shadows will go fade again.

I wish not to leave you, dear reader, with the idea that I died in vain, for I believe this coming sunrise will be my last, I fear the shadows will consume me. I write this letter to tell you not to be afraid of the shadows but to believe that there is always light on the other side of the night.


End file.
